


China Doll

by Only_1_Truth



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Q, BDSM, Banter, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Companionable Snark, Complete, Dom/sub Play, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Nicknames, Painplay, Q is a pianist, Sadism, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, author is not an expert - please read this as fiction, nightclubs, non-MI6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-25 23:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth
Summary: Besides being a computer geek, Q composes music for a living - but sometimes being a genius has its downsides, because when his brain gets going, he can't focus enough to just sit down and make the music go from his brain to the page.  For those days, he usually whines to his best friend and agent, Eve.  She always has good suggestions to help get him out of his head so he can focus again.Her best idea yet, though, is for Q to visit the Hellebore Club, one of the hottest BDSM clubs in town...





	1. Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> Important note: This is a work of fiction. There are things in this fic that should not be taken as perfect BDSM etiquette, specifically when it comes to what the Hellebore Club is allowing. So while everything here is consensual, please don't go out into the world thinking that this is how BDSM (or a BDSM club) works. Do you research. Stay safe. Don't let a fanfic be your only source :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Brit-pick note: I'm pretty sure that 'vest' is the Americanized version, but at the same time, what Q's wearing for part of this fic isn't exactly a typical waistcoat (the British word, I think) either. Basically, it's more like a haltertop, but that might be a purely Americanized phrase, too :P So, apologies ahead of time if anyone is confused about what Q's wearing! Don't worry, he doesn't wear it for long... ;3 (He also doesn't have his glasses in this fic, just because I kept losing track of them/they kept getting in the way of the fun, kinky stuff...)

As a composer, Q was used to the songs in his head escaping through his fingers. He liked keyboards of all kinds - computer, piano, anything - but the power of pure expression that he could get from a musical instrument was incomparable. Unfortunately, with creativity came writer's block. Q never published music under his own name ('Holmes' drew too much attention when people read it anywhere, thanks to his memorable brothers), which thankfully meant he had a fantastic agent who knew exactly what to do when her favourite composer couldn't slow his brain down enough to get the music out.

"I've got the perfect thing, Q," Moneypenny declared on the other end of the phone, "How would you like to go to a party?"

"Depends on the type of party," was Q's automatic response. Flopped inconsolably over the arm of his sofa, Q pressed the phone to his ear with one hand while he tapped the fingers of his other hand restlessly against the upholstery - he could all but _feel_ the notes, but his brain was moving too fast, whirring. Something he got like this.

And Moneypenny knew that. "There kind of party where I'm one-hundred percent certain you can find someone to take you out of your head for a little while." Eve's chuckle was positively wicked, and Q found himself perking up with interest. Eve Moneypenny had connections, and while Q wasn't exactly social, he suddenly realized just what kind of party she was offering.

"What do I need to pay to get in?" he asked, already getting up, "And what's the dress code?"

"Don't worry," his manager and friend replied off-handedly, "I've already called them and said you'd come as a waiter. They were shorthanded. You'll look adorable in a little waiter's vest and booty shorts." And with nothing more than an evil giggle, she hung up.

~^~

The Hellebore Club was upscale, classy, and 100% supportive of the BDSM community. During the day it served more vanilla clientele, and one could always expect the best drinks there, but when they threw parties after dark, the rules changed and you either accepted their rules or you got the fuck out.

Q had actually been there before, but had been too busy to stay long - which was a pity. As he entered the place now, indeed dressed in the 'waiter's uniform' of a tight, open-backed vest and black pants that showed off more of this thighs than it hid, Q made a mental note to buy Eve those high-class chocolates she liked. She knew him very well, and was clearly working above her pay-grade to meet her pianist's needs.

The gathering tonight was high-class, but with a sultry, sexual edge that already had Q's skin tingling, like he was close to a lightning bolt. Of course, his brain was still buzzing a mile-a-minute, taking in everything and liable to choke itself on input. His distraction nearly caused him to drop the drink-tray he was carrying, and he caught it just as the little champagne flutes began to wobble. It wasn't actually real champagne in it (the Hellebore Club became a sober place when the night-crowd came in, unless you didn't want to _play_ that night), but Q felt frustrated with himself nonetheless for nearly dropping it.

He needed something to get his mind off... everything.

Q's eyes scanned the room, knowing that the Hellebore Club wasn't actually understaffed and that he had permission to shirk his duties if he found a good reason to… and it looked like the perfect reason was sitting sprawled on a leather lounge-chair in the centre of the room.

Black tailored suit-jacket and trousers, midnight blue button-down, and a tie the colour of beaten metal, the man was a picture of class - and Q had a taste for class. He also had a taste for 'dangerous enough to deserve warning labels,' and the blond-haired man had that, too. There was just something in the way his eyes swept the crowd, powerful and content even though he was slouching on the couch and currently alone. Definitely a Dom. The man in the back organizing the event, Bill Tanner, had answered a lot of Q's questions and assured him that there would be a lot of Doms in the crowd, if that's what he was looking for. Q was picky, though - not just any old Dom would be able to get him out of the complex fortress that was his head.

It looked like this man was picky, too, however, as he politely declined everyone who approached him. Sometimes he seemed to hold conversations, always pleasant, but while others in the room were pairing off (letting their bodies do the talking), this man seemed to be saying "no" to every overture.

 _'Asexual_?' Q wondered, for the first time realizing that this might not be a suitable partner for him. Because Q's body was buzzing for sex now, too, and he felt an almost physical pang of disappointment at the thought that this blue-eyed demon of a man could be unavailable in the ways Q needed him to be available.

But as Q wandered closer, he realized what the real reason was - and it made something hungry and wild start purring in his chest

To come to the Hellebore Club as anything but a transient drinker, you had to get yourself a membership - the sign of that membership was a simple bracelet worn around the left wrist. All workers (which tonight included Q) wore one as well. All of them were personalized - but instead of something trite like a name and a heart-shaped charm, dangling from the metal band were _preferences_. So, even if this blond-haired man hadn't been exuding dominance like heat from a kiln, one had only to get close enough to see the corresponding tag on his bracelet. The bracelets could communicate far more detailed likes and dislikes, however, once you knew the code of the Hellebore Club.

This man's bracelet basically translated to "Don't approach unless you like to play with fire and get burned."

Which was fantastic, Q thought, looking at his own wrist with a little smile. His bracelet basically said, "I'm a pyromaniac." Balancing his tray more easily now that his mind had focused on this one thing, Q put a bit more of a saunter into his step and stopped wandering around the room to instead make a beeline for the man at the centre of the room. Clearly, this was the kind of man who liked to be the centre of attention.

Good, because when Q was in a mood like this, so did he.

Q's 'target' was sitting in the centre of the room, where various types of furniture filled the space, most of them situated to face the broad stage at the far end of the room. Usually, it held various musicians during the day, although now the curtains had been pulled back to reveal a St. Andrew's Cross, currently as empty as the rest of the stage. The night was young. Q couldn't remember if any partners had been scheduled to perform, or if it was the Hellebore's version of 'open mic night' tonight. Right now, all it meant was that there was nothing to distract the blond-haired Dom from seeing Q's approach, blue eyes snapping to him with a raptor-like quickness. _'Dangerous_ ,' Q's buzzing mind supplied the adjective again, as he looked at the man and thought of predators and sniper rifles. When the Dom's eyebrows rose and he shifted his body slightly, broad shoulders flexing beneath his well-cut suit, Q thought of edged weaponry and metal.

"Hello," the man greeted with something clearly approving in his voice. He was looking Q over, but with a subtleness that some of the younger, brasher Doms lacked. Q felt lightly stroked beneath his gaze, rather than groped by the glance. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of seeing you here before."

"I'm not a regular," Q replied on reflex, even as his mind rapidly calculated James' reaction, noting already that the man was holding back. Now that Q was close enough, he could see that the blue-eyed man only looked languid and relaxed on the surface - beneath it was something more controlled, more guarded. "You can call me Q."

"Well then, Q, believe me when I say I'm delighted to meet you - I'm James Bond," the man said with all politeness, but still didn't move. In the Hellebore Club, touching was the norm, so it made a statement when someone didn't. For the first time, Q realized that his own bracelet wasn't perfectly visible beneath the angle of the tray he was holding. "I hope you're having a fun time?"

The Dom, James, was making pleasantries, Q realized - because he didn't think that Q was there for the same kind of games that he was. Q had to bite back a secretive little smile, knowing just how mistaken James was. So Q decided to play a little bit. He felt his mind focus, more of it honing in on the intricate task of playing with a man who's bracelet said he was a Dom and a sadist - but also an exhibitionist. "Oh, I suppose so," Q feigned a sigh, looking around and putting on a pout that he knew for a fact was devastating in its own way, "It's actually not as much fun as I'd been promised."

"Oh?" Just one eyebrow rose this time. There was concern in his voice, although it was still the polite kind; Q was still a random person that James assumed wouldn't be compatible with him. "Has anyone made you uncomfortable?" he further assumed, even if there was an added watchfulness in his gaze. Q thought of cats stepping out onto ice and recognizing that it might be thin.

Q didn't turn off his pout, but he did look back at James out of the corner of his eye. "Actually, people haven't made me uncomfortable enough," he offered.

James' smile warmed up a bit - Q had been upgraded from 'stranger' to 'pleasant acquaintance.' He was aiming for a lot more. Stretching his arms out across the back of the couch in a way that pulled his jacket and shirt across his chest in a beautiful way, James guessed, "I take it you're a sub."

"That's correct."

"I can say with surety that there are a great number of Doms in this room that would love to make you _deeply_ uncomfortable." The innuendo was delivered smoothly, but with enough bite to make it obvious - like a kiss with teeth. James' eyes were pale and dangerously playful, even as his body language remained aloof. "Balls deep, if that's what you're after."

Q wanted to give the man kudos for managing to reference sex and yet say it in the same tone that most upscale folks would talk about fine wine. Instead, he turned his attention back to Bond more fully, pushing his glasses up his nose in a manner Eve had told him looked very coy. "I'm not actually interested in any of them." Which was true - Q, in wandering the room, had surveyed quite a few other Doms and their bracelets. He knew with a sort of shameless certainty that none of them was a high enough calibre to handle him.

But James, perhaps, just might be.

It was easy to recognize the slightly pained look on James' face - the look usually worn when someone was being hit on by a friend's little sister or something. A polite, well-meant, but nonetheless uncomfortable look. James was preparing to turn Q away. Q let him, because he wasn't worried - after all, Q had been looking at the other sub's bracelets, too, and he hadn't seen anyone offering what James wanted but him. "Are you sure you're looking for a Dom like me, Q?" he said, low and slightly regretful, like the smoke after a fire.

Q allowed himself a small smile. "Well, I suppose it depends. How are you with a flogger?"

That remnant of smoke reignited into a fire. For the first time, Bond's body tensed as if tempted to move and touch. Q was aware of a few other patrons beginning to monitor the exchange. When Bond replied, it was after a thoughtful pause, and his voice had dropped an octave, "I'm told that I'm passable."

The careful pacing of the words made Q think that the man was being demure; he was more than passable. Q felt a shiver ride down his spine. Still, he played, "I'm not sure that I'd settle for 'passable'."

It looked like James was actively trying to get a look at Q's bracelet now, and while it was rather rude to keep one's preferences hidden in the Hellebore club, Q lowered his tray to keep his secrets just a bit longer. He got a contemplative look in response, one that indicated Bond was catching on to the game. "Fine then," the man admitted, crossing one leg over the other, "I'm more than passable." He tipped his head, and Q rather liked what arrogance did to his voice, "I've had subs coming, untouched, just from what I can do to them with a whip." He tipped his chin pointedly towards Q's hidden hand, adding, "If that's what they're into."

Q let his smile grow a bit wider. He pretended to misinterpret the look, though, following James' eyes instead to the drinks. "Oh, you want one?" he asked, all ignorance and eagerness to please.

Blue eyes narrowed just slightly, but after a pause, James proved that he was more than just a headstrong Dom and followed Q's lead: "You know, I think I might."

The upside to Q's brain being overloaded with thoughts today was that he'd had the forethought to strategize - meaning, he'd given away all of his drinks but one. So when he walked over, tray still on one hand and the single remaining glass transferred to his other hand, he didn't have to worry about dropping anything. He was delighted when James did exactly what he'd hoped he'd do, which was take the glass from Q's with one hand and grip Q's vest with the other, tugging him abruptly forward until he overbalanced.

Fuck, Q had been desperately hoping that there was actual muscle beneath that suit - and now he knew that there definitely was, and it was all he could do not to purr. He could feel Bond's strength like a vibration in the air, thrumming into him even as his tray dropped and he ended up sprawling forward onto the larger man's lap. One knee up on the sofa by Bond's hip and both hands braced automatically on those broad shoulders, Q now got the see the Dom smiling from up-close - a close-lipped grin that was all playfulness on the surface, all hunger and shadows underneath. _'Dangerous_ ,' Q thought again, and found his heart-rate pick up. The drink remained unspilled, and James swirled the non-alcoholic beverage idly. "Well, aren't you demanding?" Q huffed at him, pleased that his voice was only a bit breathy.

James idly soothed his hand up and down the bit of Q's vest that he'd gripped. Q could feel the backs of his knuckles, brushing up and down against the skin of his bare chest beneath. "So call security on me," the man offered with a shrug. The Hellebore Club actually had fantastic security - Q knew one of the bouncers here tonight, actually, Alec Trevelyan. BDSM was all about consent, and if someone wasn't respecting that, they got thrown out on their arse without hesitation.

It seemed like James was offering Q an out, but Q didn't want one. "I think I'll tolerate a bit of demanding," Q allowed with a little, considering hum. He slid one hand up James' chest, feeling powerful when the man's eyes moved to it - after all, that same limb held a very important bracelet, didn't it? "So long as you make it worth my while."

Q knew the moment that James finally set his eyes on the bracelet, and all of its informative little charms - knew it because he _felt_ the low noise the man made, something between a purr and a growl. "You little minx," Bond accused. He looked back up at Q, and after a pause, purposefully transferred his hand from Q's vest, up Q's shoulder, to the side of his neck, to then wrap it around his throat. Q could sense as much as see other patrons shifting, preparing for trouble. James had eyes only for Q, though, something hopeful and ravenous in those blue depths.

But all Q did was smile, shifting so that he could get his other leg up onto the couch and sit more comfortably in James' lap. "So, in answer to your earlier question," Q said, tipping his chin back to give Bond more access to his neck. His entire body thrilled at the feeling of powerful fingers readjusting around the pale column of his throat, such potential for destruction even as the calloused palm and fingertips offered only the gentlest of pressure. "I'm sure I'm looking for _exactly_ a Dom like you."

Q's bracelet was the kind that would draw in Doms from across the room, because it had so many charms - but it also indicated the kinds of preferences that made most Doms quietly tuck tail and leave after they got a closer look. Q, after all, was a demanding mix of submissive, exhibitionist, and masochist. Some Doms might think that they could give him what they wanted, but they'd probably just end up embarrassing themselves - or hurting their partner, and not in a good way. Still, Q had tolerated subpar Doms before.

It had been a damn long time, though, since Q had looked at a Dom and thought, ' _You just might have the potential to impress me a bit.'_

Q rather thought that James was thinking the same thing as those blue eyes took him in anew. "Exactly a Dom like me, hm?" the man considered, as if he was merely idly interested still - his body language and eyes betrayed him, though, as his fingertips kneaded the back of Q's neck, thumb stroking up under Q's jaw, and his eyes grew progressively more hungry. "You've got a funny way of showing it, playing so demurely."

"Maybe I like to put on a show," Q reminded, giving his braceleted wrist a little shake, pointedly. _'Exhibitionist_ ,' the motion reminded James.

The man made a considering noise deep in his chest and brought the faux-champagne glass to his lips without taking his eyes off Q. "You know, when I last had a sub that acted like you, I punished them dearly for playing me," he noted. When Q opened his mouth to retort something, James delayed the response by pressing the glass now to Q's parted lips. It was the opposite side of the rim from where James' mouth had pressed - but considering the fact that Q was already thinking about kissing the man, or swallowing his cock, sharing a bit of spit now would have hardly given him pause. Q let his eyelids fall to half-mast, and allowed the remainder of the drink to be tipped into his mouth. It was delicately pear-flavoured, and the effervescence was added to the bubbling excitement in Q's body as he swallowed.

Q could feel James subtly taking control of the game. Thus far, Q had been the one pulling the strings, his increased knowledge of the situation allowing him to play Bond like a fish on a line up until now. With Bond thumbing thoughtfully at Q's pulse, however, and Q's quick mouth momentarily stoppered by drink, the Dom was doing what he clearly had practice at: taking the reins. This was usually the point where Q became something of a brat, unsure whether submission was really worth it, but this time... Q tentatively gave in, at least until he could see more of James' skills. Q let both of his arms go lax, hands draped over his thighs in a clear indication that he wasn't going to interrupt whatever Bond wanted to do.

The people around them no doubt relaxed at this point, their eyes trained to see when something was consensual - although Q was willing to bet that a goodly number of them had never seen a true sadist and masochist pair off.

They were in for a treat.

"Punish, you say?" Q dared to ask drolly, once the glass had been removed from his mouth. He chased the flavour across his own lips with his tongue.

Feigning thoughtfulness still, as if Q were a puzzle he was idly pondering, Bond replied with an agreeing hum and then abruptly pulled Q closer by his neck. Q was left a bit unbalanced again, but this time resisted the urge to move his hands to brace himself. Trusting James to hold him steady with just his big fist wrapped around Q's neck, the boffin soon found himself close enough to smell the drink on Bond's breath, and see the fine lines of crows'-feet at the corners of the man's intense eyes. Q was rewarded for his pliant response by a foreign tongue across his lips - James, laying claim to all remaining traces of Q's mouthful of drink. Then, even though they were close (James' hand preventing Q from closing the distance for a proper kiss, however), James said to Q in a pseudo-whispered pitch that carried to those around them, "Is that what you were fishing for all along, darling? Someone to write out their displeasure on your skin?" As he spoke, James' other hand (now free, the empty glass tipped against the back of the couch) slid up the open back of Q's vest, trailing fingernails just hard enough to probably leave red lines - and certainly hard enough to have gooseflesh appearing on Q's bare skin.

Q had to suppress a shiver before fathoming an answer. He was aware that his eyelids fluttered slightly - likewise, though, he felt the minute shift in Bond's hand around his throat, an instinctual tightening that felt delightfully possessive. "Mostly, I was just looking for someone who wouldn't bore me to death and treat me like a China doll," Q retorted, although this time the sass in his voice earned him a much more purposeful flexing of Bond's hand - Q's head was tipped up and back, Bond's thumb and index finger pressing almost painfully up behind the hinge of Q's jaw.

"Am I treating you like a China doll?" James asked, in a tone that some might have mistaken for pleasant. Q just heard the rolling undercurrent of predatory warning... and it was already making him hard in his pants. Bond's other hand was still on Q's back, making it impossible to alleviate the pressure and angle of his neck by leaning bodily away. Fingertips scratched at him again, a bit harder this time, before thoughtfully drumming on his spine.

With his head tilted back at the limit of its extension, Q was hyperaware of his own breathing, as each inhale and exhale rushed beneath Bond's unforgiving palm. "No," he admitted. He kept his hands still, an implicit form of consent that anyone in the room had to be able to read.

Despite the visible signs of Q's agreement, James still asked, "And if I threaten to break you in ways you don't want, China doll, will you tell me?"

Despite being a bit irked at the nickname, Q huffed and replied obediently, "I'll say red. If I need a moment to decide whether I love something or hate it, I'll say yellow."

"Good." James' pleasure was a palpable thing, like hot honey on cold skin. It made Q shiver even before James' hand on his back slid away, giving Q a bit more manoeuvrability even as it moved to Q's braceleted wrist - observing it, no doubt. "Because I guarantee, Q, I'm one of the more dangerous Doms you've ever been with," he purred lowly.

"The _most_ dangerous, I'm hoping," Q said with a smile, head still tilted back, so that his smile was cast at the ceiling.

Q was starting to understand Bond's aloofness from earlier. Part of it had been the man incorrectly thinking that Q wasn't his type - but a large part of it was an intrinsic part of who Bond was, Q was concluding. Even now, as Q sat on his lap, throat tightly collared by one powerful hand, Q could feel the almost monumental self-control in the man. It was like a vibration in the air, humming from powerful muscles, from every measured breath. And now, as Q began to get an increasing sense of just what kind of Dom Bond was, he was beginning to understand why: James was a monster. He wasn't just some weak idiot that got a power-trip from controlling those weaker than him - he was legitimately someone who was hardwired to take apart the people around him. But at some point in his life, he'd realized that he'd have to either control that urge or end up in prison or a psych ward. Q realized that he was sitting on the lap of a man who knew himself very well, and who was exquisitely aware of just how dangerous he could be - but purposefully chose not to.

Well... mostly chose not to. He was here, after all, looking for a willing partner to destroy just a little bit.

Q felt his own grin widen, and suddenly felt more free and alive than he'd felt in weeks. On other days when he'd gotten musical writers-block, his thoughts in a hyperactive tangle, he'd tried to use sex to get out of his head, but it rarely worked, because other people rarely pushed him far enough. Q didn't need a little shove to get him out of his head - he needed a metaphorical train to hit him. A warhead.

Fuck, James was that warhead. Q could feel it in the hawk-talon-grip around his throat, in the way James was idly stroking the vulnerable inside of his wrist now with his other hand.

"I think we're going to have fun together," Q opined teasingly, daring to swivel his hand and stroke James' hand back - feeling calluses and hard knuckles.

"You know what, Q? I think I agree," was the husky reply Q got - quickly followed by, "But first, I'm going to punish you for breaking the rules of the Hellebore Club and not bloody telling me that you were a masochist from the start." And with that, James was pushing Q off his lap, his grip on Q's wrist keeping him tethered like a cable even as Bond's other hand moved fast enough to control Q's descent to the plush carpet floor. Q was on his knees in a heap before he knew it, one arm twisted up behind his back.

 

 


	2. Hurricane in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot, and Q is about to learn what it's like to have James in control. But Q might still have more power than he realizes, when another Dom gets involved... and Q finds out that even Doms can be made to kneel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameo from Alec in this chapter! 
> 
> Also:  
> Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who have commented so far <3 Both on this fic, and on any of my other stories. I know that I don't reply very often anymore, but I do read every single comment that is sent to me, and they're all points of sunshine in my days. 
> 
> As a university instructor, my time has been very limited, and I've had to choose between taking time to write and taking time to reply to all of the wonderful comments I've received. So just know that as I keep posting stuff as quickly as I can, I'm still loving all the comments I receive even if I've not had time to reply :)

Facing the not-so-subtle crowd that had gathered, Q found himself acutely aware of the fact that he'd just gotten James to lose control a tiny fraction - and that everyone in the crowd was probably keeping their distance because they, too, had just gotten a sense of how damn dangerous James was. At the same time, Q and James hadn't been particularly quiet about their safeword negotiations, so no one felt justified in calling for security. Q wondered how often James was here, at the Hellebore Club - how often he sat there, calm and controlled like a hurricane in a bottle, and whether any of the regulars here had the slightest idea that they were dealing with anything but a calm man in an expensive suit.

Q was still eyeing the people around him, trying to discern how many of them - if any - knew even a fraction about James what Q knew already, when he felt his other hand get snagged and twisted up behind him. "Color?" James grunted mildly, even as he easily wrapped one hand around both of Q's wrists, level with the middle of his spine.

Q turned, and at the sight of James using his other hand to loosen off his tie, Q found the muscles of his lower stomach tightening in anticipation. "Green," he was quick to say, and purposefully pitched his voice to carry - it was a declaration. James pretended not to notice, but Q nonetheless saw one side of the blond-haired man's mouth kick upwards on one side, pleased or amused.

"Is this my punishment or my reward? Because if you've been paying attention, I'm actually into this kind of thing," Q teased as the tie ended up going around his wrists. He could all but feel the quality of the silk, and suddenly had an image of just how opulent James' bed had to be, if he spent this much on a nice tie. Q would've loved to laze around on silk sheets... No, that was a lie. What Q really would've loved was being thoroughly debauched on silk sheets. That's just the kind of mood he was in right now.

"Yes, but are you into waiting patiently like a good boy?" James asked from right next to his ear, giving Q's new bindings a little tug to test them. It also rocked Q back in his kneel, so that he was sitting on his heels, shoulder-blades pressing into James' knees. Turning his head, Q caught the full force of a truly wicked grin, all wrapped up in a lazy sort of hunger that said it could wait patiently for _days_. Fuck, Q had found one of those ambush-hunters - the kind of predator that could sit motionless and still for as long as it took for its prize to come to it. Releasing his grip on Q, James suddenly produced what Q had mistaken for a pocket-square at his breast - it turned out to be a much longer handkerchief of midnight blue. By the time Q realized what James was doing as he began folding it, the material was being laid over his eyes. "And are you into doing it blind?"

Q was about to make a comment about how much of an innuendo 'doing it blind' was, but then James knotted the improvised blindfold tight across his eyes - another simple application of strength that reminded Q that this was a man to whom strength was an afterthought. He had a lot of it, and using it was probably dangerously easy. Q sucked in a shallow, slow breath to slow his racing heart even as he acknowledged the increasingly needy throb between his legs. Remembering the crowd of people around them, Q spread his knees a bit wider. These spandex trousers really didn't hide much, especially since Q wasn't wearing anything under them.

"Minx," James commented, likely noticing. He gave Q's earlobe a little tweak, then leaned in close to add in another tone of voice altogether, "You're gorgeous." The man shifted on the couch behind Q, although now that Q was blindfolded, it was impossible to judge the details. Q did feel warm cloth and solidity against either shoulder - enough to guess that he was being bracketed protectively by the man's knees. "Gorgeous enough that I want to make a spectacle of you," James added, lowering his voice to a pitch that, for once, was only for Q.

When his hand stroked down Q's mostly bare back, it was gentle, but still made Q shiver. The shiver became a little twitch of surprise as Q felt James touching his fingertips, manipulating them slightly. Q's bracelet clearly indicated that he wasn't into permanent damage, and that specifically meant "leave my hands alone," but before he felt the need to voice that, he realized that James was slipping something silky into his palm. "The end of the tie," Bond narrated. He closed Q's fingers around it. "The knot around your wrists is a slip-knot - one pull, and you're free as a bird."

Q's brain was still moving fast enough that it immediately began to unfold James' words like an origami dragon - and he was suspicious of what he found. Frowning, Q murmured carefully, "Is this your way of saying you may not stop when I say 'red'?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying," was the surprisingly firm answer. For the very first time, James sounded offended. Q made a mental note: James was a monster, perhaps, but he was one that followed rules. It was comforting to realize that - and also thrilling to further recognize just how _few_ rules James seemed to have. This was a man who sounded like he gleefully broke society's rules 99% of the time... but then defended that remaining 1% to the grave. Q twitched as James' hand appeared out of nowhere to stroke his cheek. Softer, the irritation in his voice gone, James clarified, "This is my way of saying that it might be a bit hard for you to use a safeword if I'm putting that pretty mouth of yours to other uses. This way you can physically safeword, and I'll know to stop.  What do you think?"

All of Q's remaining flickers of uncertainty continued to crackle and waver for just a few seconds... then abruptly went out, like candles when you opened the door and let a midnight breeze inside. "Green," was all Q said, leaning back trustingly against James' knees, smiling brazenly for anyone to see.

James made a wordless sound that was clearly one of approval, and the hand caressing Q's cheek slid down towards his chin. Q wondered what the man did for a living, to get the callouses he had... all Q knew was that he loved the feel of them, their roughness. As his mind wandered to what they'd feel like around his cock, Q felt Bond's hand unfolding to grip the entire underside of his jaw. This time, when he tipped Q's head back, it wasn't just a powerplay like before - well, not in total. James was also now showing Q off, extending his pale throat for all to see. Q, in return, relaxed into it so that his submission was clear.

"You've got everyone's eyes on you," James murmured, voice intimately soft and quiet. Q felt the fingertips of the man's free hand just lightly skate down his windpipe, pausing on his Adam's apple, the hollow of his throat, then sliding inquisitively beneath the halter-top-esque neck of Q's waiter's vest. Q shivered as warm fingers explored one side of his clavicle, pressing down until the bone felt vulnerable in just the smallest, slightest way. "There were some couples considering going up on stage, but no one's going to now - because you've stolen the show."

"You mean _we've_ stolen the show," Q huffed back, unable to fight the pleased smile from escaping onto his face. The constant buzzing of his overactive brain was fading, the restraints and the blindfold reducing and simplifying his world, until there was only the sound of Bond's voice and the touch of his hands to cling to. "Don't try and tell me you're not eye-candy to every sub in this room."

"Quite a few subs are eyeing you."

"Out of envy."

That tricked a chuckle out of the Dom. He daringly slipped more of his hand beneath the material of Q's vest, leaning forward over Q as he did so - Q could suddenly sense him everywhere, like a hot summer storm at his back. James' fingertips found Q's right nipple even as the man rumbled right next to Q's ear, "They can be as envious as they want, but before this night is over, they'll all know that they couldn't have withstood a fraction of what I'd want to give to them." A hot tongue and then light stubble rubbed Q's ear, making him moan and then hiss. "Can you take what I want to give, China doll?"

"Not if you keep up that ridiculous nickname," Q snapped back, using his awareness of Bond's proximity to twist his head and bite. It wasn't much of a bite, since Q was still blind, and since he wasn't the sadist of the pair - but he was pretty sure his teeth scraped against a firm jawline before Bond pulled back. Q thought he heard gasps and a few giggles from the crowd, and it thrilled him enough that he kept talking at a volume everyone could hear, "A ridiculously inaccurate nickname, I should add. You won't break me."

"Maybe not." James sounded impressed. Of course, the hand inside Q's shirt also gave his nipple a hard pinch as a retaliation for the bite, making Q hiss in a breath and arch his back slightly - James didn't let up the pressure, though, and Q could all but feel the endorphins racing in, turning the annoying pain into a slick, drugging heat. The pain blossomed into something like an adrenaline high, and he sagged a little, sighing. James chose only then to let go, pressing his palm against the abused nub and pulling Q close against his knees. "But you're going to beg me to try, aren't you?" James finished, and now there was perhaps the faintest hint of wonder in his voice, like James was finally realizing that he'd found a rare treasure in the boffin at his feet.

Still adjusting to that first kick of pleasure-pain, Q took in a deep breath and admitted on the exhale, "God, yes."

This was a part of Q's personality that had gotten him into trouble in the past: he was just that kind of person who, if told who the biggest threat in the room was, immediately walked up to that person and stood on their toes. This habit was probably why he stayed in the shadows and wrote music and let Eve handle all of the sales and political stuff - if he'd gotten involved, he'd have started a few fights. It took a smart person, however, to realize that Q wasn't actually self-destructive or combative... he just had a bit of a danger-kink.

At the declaration of just how much Q wanted James to try and take him apart, the larger man released a pleased rumble that reminded Q of lions, or distant earthquakes. For a moment, James pulled Q tighter to him in a hug that gave Q another little taste of the man's strength - it was enough to squeeze the air from his lungs. James finished it by taking the rim of Q's ear in his teeth, another, smaller show of strength as he bit and tugged lightly before releasing. As he sat back, James declared, "All right then, Q. Let it never be said that I don't give my subs what they ask for. But punishment before pleasure." James leaned back, hand sliding out of Q's shirt until it just rested on his shoulder, claiming him with a light touch. "You get to sit here and be patient until I think you deserve something more."

Q barely resisted the urge to complain, and a little growl still burbled up his throat. However, he didn't undo the bindings about his wrists or safeword out... because he suspected more and more by the second that being rewarded by James would be worth the wait. He still couldn't help but wheedle a little bit, leaning to buff his cheek against Bond's hand on his shoulder, "You know, that will punish you as much as me - we'll both get terribly bored."

"Oh, I don't know about that," James replied in a Cheshire tone, then Q heard him raise his voice to call presumably to a staff member, "Another drink, please!" The waiters and waitresses were all barefoot, so Q couldn't hear more than the faintest susurrus of noise to indicate someone coming closer, and presumably doing as James wished. The Dom provided a pleasant thank you, and his hand left Q's shoulder - but only for a moment. Q twitched only a little when he felt a brush of skin against the side of his face again. When Q didn't pull back (because he was curious, dammit), there was soon a finger prodding at his lips - an unexpectedly wet finger. Ah, so this was what James meant when he'd said Q might have a hard time safewording... Q obligingly opened his mouth, and immediately had a finger sliding past his teeth and spreading an unexpected flavour of apples across his tongue.

The rest of James' hand cupped Q's jaw, thumb stroking his sub's cheek as he fed his juice-dipped finger into Q's mouth. Q hummed his approval, showing off a bit by pressing closer, testing the limits of his gag-reflex even as James took that as his cue to curl his index finger down against Q's tongue. "Glad I picked a flavour you like," James chuckled lowly.

' _I like the flavour of_ you,' Q would have answered, but his mouth was a little bit busy. Pressing forward into the hand cupping the lower half of his face, he wrapped his tongue around the offered finger, gentle with his teeth but not with the suction of his mouth. Maybe he could get James to shorten this 'punishment' if Q tempted him enough.

Q was interrupted from his very earnest finger-fellatio by a voice from in front of and above him - a very appreciative male voice. "Fuck, I saw him wandering around, but I didn't ever think he could look this damn inviting."

It took Q a moment to recognize the voice of one of the bouncer's, Alec Trevelyan, whom he knew passingly well. When James removed his hand from Q's mouth, Q bit back a whine, and sat still obediently even as James withdrew his hand across Q's cheek - no doubt trailing spit in a messy, suggestive trail. "He's certainly a partner I'm lucky to have," James replied, back to that same, aloof politeness that he'd shown Q at first, before he'd known what to do with him. Then James paused, and Q sensed something in the way the man's fingertips paused for a second just in front of his ear. "What would you do for a taste of him?" James asked with faux idleness.

"I've seen his bracelet - I couldn't dance to his tune for long," Alec admitted, but he nonetheless sounded a bit breathless even before he shamelessly admitted, "but fuck, I'd just about get on my knees if it meant I could also get my mouth on him. And I'm a Dom, so that's saying something."

Q sat still, listening to everything and feeling like more and more sparks were being lit in his skin, lighting him up. He twitched a little when James, voice serious again, asked unexpectedly, "Color?"

Q was pretty sure he knew what James was asking: ' _Do you want to play this new game?_ ' Tilting his head, knowing that he was making the newcomer in front of him wait (not to mention all of the other people no doubt staring), Q wet his lips slowly before saying, "Green." He was perfectly capable of saying "yellow" or "red" if this reached a point he wasn't comfortable with, but at the moment, this was the most damn fun he'd had in months.

James' ability to surprise him was a big factor in that fun.

"All right then, friend," James said, sounding jovial, but in a way that made Q suspect that James was playing Alec as much as he was playing everyone else - because of course a Dom like James wanted to dominate even the other Dominants in the room. "You can have a taste - but that's it. And it's on my terms, because until further notice, he's _mine_." The declaration was said with a self-assured ease that had Q biting back both a smirk and a purr.

Alec hurriedly agreed. Q silently preened.

Then James was cupping a hand under Q's jaw again, drawing him back against his knees so that Q was leaning back. "Is your vest a rental?" James asked unexpectedly, sounding innocent and benign.

Confused for the first time, Q frowned. "Yes?"

"I'll foot the dry-cleaning bill then," James said, and then Q felt a splash of cold liquid upon his throat and falling down the open V of his vest. Presumably the drink that James had asked for earlier, it was now dripping down Q's skin, spreading to his bare shoulders as James trickled it there, chilly and shocking. Q gasped, and would have wriggled away, except he was already overbalanced backwards, sitting hard on his heels, and James' grip on his head was like iron. A curse-word escaped Q's mouth, but he must have looked quite a sight - because he could hear people around them gasping, and there were a few moans as Q's body uselessly bucked.

"Well then," James said, sounding bossy yet lackadaisical, and also sounding like he wasn't talking to Q anymore, "Clean him up, if you want your taste."

Q's eyes blinked open wide behind his blindfold. _Fuck_. To say he hadn't anticipated this outcome... was an understatement. Q had started out this game being the one in control, but James was proving more and more unpredictable, and Q would have been a bloody liar to say that it wasn't doing it for him. Q's brain, previously scattered and overthinking everything, was now forced to focus just to try and anticipate what was coming. The world was narrowing down again: just to James, with his hand under Q's chin, and now Trevelyan, a Dom who definitely wasn't used to bending for anyone, or following orders.

The solemn curse Q heard above and in front of him sounded like it was in Russian, and it was most definitely not a word for polite company. But then Q heard the rustle of clothing, and the gasps of the crowd more than confirmed that fact that there was another Dom now kneeling down in front of Q. "This all right?" Alec asked, from very close now, right on Q's level, and it was hard to tell if he was asking Q or Bond.

Q decided to leave it up to James, turning his head as much as he could to nuzzle against the man's wrist. Instead of saying anything, Q just translated his contentedness into a hum.

"It certainly won't be all right if you leave my sub waiting too long," James said archly. God, the man was probably an insufferable peacock in real life. Q wasn't sure he cared... especially when James' voice dropped to something more sultry, "Keep hesitating, and he's going to get all sticky."

Obviously James was referring to the juice, which was going to get Q sticky regardless because it was in his clothing now - but the other implication was also kind of true, because Q's cock was twitching in his pants again. He felt it throb as he tensed the muscles of his lower belly, a response to the hot, new breath he felt fanning across the hollow of his throat. "Can't keep the _kotik_ waiting," Alec murmured, and then there was a tongue replacing the breath, and Q gasped as a mouth was sealed against the base of his throat.

Q's body spasmed at the unexpected sensation - hard enough that he very nearly tugged the tie around his wrists loose before he caught himself. It took a concerted effort to just clutch the material tight, holding it in place instead of tugging, even as James kept his head tipped back with one hand. Q was so focused on Alec working his way down the open V of his vest that he startled at another touch, realizing only a beat later that James' other hand had appeared against his temple, stroking lightly through the blindfold. Q could just imagine how contented the man had to be right now, sitting like a king. Q's thoughts derailed as Alec pulled his mouth away to ask in a voice that had grown husky and deep, "Can I take his vest off?" The desire was palpable in the other man's voice, and it made Q shiver with power. Q kept his mouth shut again, surprised that instead of feeling powerless, he felt like a god on high, with Bond as his mouthpiece.

Being a mouthpiece of a god seemed perfectly fine by James. He idly tugged a few locks of Q's hair loose from under the blindfold, replying with an intoxicating amount of self-confidence, "I'll allow it."

This time, Q sucked in a breath, determined to brace himself for the next burst of sensations. It helped: Alec was no doubt a Dom, but he clearly didn't specialize in setting his subs off-balance, because there were no surprises as Q felt the tightly cinched buttons around his middle coming undone. The air was cool against his skin, more so because he was wet - ' _Thanks, Bond, you bastard_ ’ - and Q's breath stuttered out of him a bit. Alec, gentle, soothed the shiver with a warm tongue across Q's damp right shoulder.

But just as Q was getting comfortable, feeling Alec slid the now-open vest off his shoulders so that it slid down to pool around his bound arms, he felt something tap against his lips - it felt like a fingertip, getting his attention. It was Bond, being disruptive again. "Color?" the Dom asked. Q was beginning to notice a definitive shift in Bond's demeanour whenever he asked that: all of the pomp and danger, all of the predatory hunger and threatening sadism, faded away. With that stripped clean, there was just a steely, unyielding focus. Q didn't need to have practice at subbing to know that this wasn't a question to trifle with.

"Green," the boffin therefore answered obediently.

The fingertips that had startled him by tapping his mouth now smoothed across his lower lip, pausing to press against Q's mouth, even as Alec began to work his way down Q's chest unimpeded. "Still green?" James asked, as he tacitly requested entrance to Q's mouth again.

This time Q just nodded and parted his lips, slackening his jaw when he realized he was being fed two fingers this time - and he already knew just how demanding Bond could be.

It took Q a total of three seconds to realize just how skilled James was at fingerfucking someone's mouth. That, of course, made Q wonder how well James could fingerfuck other parts of him, and before Q knew it he was groaning around the two digits in his mouth. James unhesitantly pushed in further, calloused fingertips sliding along Q's tongue, testing his gag reflex, then withdrawing halfway to press down and draw Q's jaw open before he could adjust to the previous sensations. Q panted wetly, then gasped as James' other hand fisted suddenly in his hair, holding his head still as he knelt with his mouth drooling around two fingers - another man, in the meanwhile, licking a stripe up his sternum. Alec's hands were on Q's thighs by now, bracing himself, and Q hadn't felt this inundated in a long while. He found himself quivering, and it was almost comforting when James let his fingers slide fully back into Q's mouth again, letting Q close his mouth and just suck on them more a moment. The sound of it all had to be filthy, but the knowledge that everyone was watching just wound Q up tighter.

By now, his cock was achingly stiff, and he could definitely see how this was punishment - because James sure wasn't doing anything about Q's growing problem, and Alec sure as hell wasn't going to cross that boundary with another man's sub. And perhaps Q would have complained, but this was what he lived for. Masochism was more than just asking someone to spank his arse until his nerves were on fire - masochism for Q was desperately wanting something and being told "No."

And James, the fucking sadist, was definitely telling Q "No," even as he wound Q up tighter than a violin string.

By now, Q could feel spittle running down his chin, and he'd never wished to be naked more desperately in his life - because then, just maybe, these two fingers in his mouth would somehow find their way to his hole. Q was just about desperate enough to stupidly ask to be dry-fucked at this point, and that was when Alec apparently finished his task, sitting back and depriving still more. The noise Q made around Bond's fingers was needy in the extreme, but all James did was lean close to his ear and purr sensibly, "All you have to do is pull that tie loose, and the torture ends."

Clearly, James had taken lessons from the snake in Eden. Q resisted the urge to bite the fingers in his mouth, realizing that that wouldn't get him anywhere. He stubbornly refused James' offer, though, even as he heard Alec's light panting in front of him, and a sound that might have been the other man wiping a hand across his mouth. "I'd say he's clean now, if by clean you mean 'mouthwateringly dirty'," the club's bouncer opined, sounding transparently like he wanted to 'end Q's torture' as well.

 More than a little desperate, Q rolled his hips, pointedly humping the air in Alec's direction. The bouncer swore colourfully. Sadly, he didn't try and challenge James for possession of his sub. Perhaps that was wise, though, since Q was pretty sure that anyone who tried to please him right now would find out that he was quite a fucking handful. The stereotype was that masochistic subs were docile and needy - but Q, when he was this riled up, was a _wildcat_ and needy. He'd been told that it was actually a rather terrifying combo.

In a notably dazed voice, Alec murmured from in front of Q, "I have never been so glad in my life that I turned up early for my shift." From where his voice was coming from, he was still kneeling. Q had met Doms who were so insecure about not being in control that they would have immediately gotten back to their feet - clearly, Alec was either more secure, or still rather floored by the display he'd just been part of. "Hey, are you going to show him off on stage?" Alec asked, clearly talking to James. Q was very nearly beyond listening, all of his mind focused on the fingers fucking in and out of his mouth and the maddening throbbing between his legs. "Because I have to do my job and watch the door soon, but I can see the stage from there. It also looks like you're both exhibitionists."

Bond stilled; Q could feel it everywhere they touched. It probably didn't look like much on the outside - just a temporary pause - but Q could feel the way Bond's body entirely ceased to move for a moment. Then he was taking his fingers out of Q's mouth, letting him pant and breathe unimpeded for a moment and just resting his hand on Q's chest as if it wasn't covered in saliva. "I hadn't actually thought about it," James said, as lightly and politely as a diplomat on foreign soil. Q could all but imagine his perfectly professional, 85% charming 15% disarming smile. "If Q is up for it, though-"

"Stop being such a demure bastard and say yes," Q got control of his tongue enough to snap back right in the middle of Bond's sentence.

Everyone was silent. Then Q felt the hand on his chest curl, fingers dragging deliciously up one pectoral. Bond's voice stopped being formulaically fake and went wry and amused, "How could I say no to such a polite request? Mr.-?"

"Trevelyan. Alec Trevelyan," the bouncer answered with alacrity.

"Do you have enough time still before you shift to help me with the St. Andrew's cross up there?"

"For that," Alec huffed, sounded _immensely_ pleased, "I've got all the time in the world. Fuck, I'd consider getting fired just for this." And with that, Q heard him getting up.

"What do you say, Q?" James leaned in close to his ear again to ask. The hand that had been fisted in his hair had loosened, and now stroked it back from his forehead, playing with a few locks. "You said you wanted to know how good I was with a flogger."

Q felt his cock jump, and it was probably embarrassingly obvious to everyone around them. "Green," was what he had to say to that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that this is _fanfiction_ , meaning please don't read this as a user's guide to flogging and sexual sadism. This is something that can be fantastically fun, but only if done safely. 
> 
> How about that sadism, though? ;3 God, I think we might have broken Alec... but James has only begun breaking Q...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's been itching for some punishment, and James finally delivers - and shows whether or not he's merely 'passable' with a flogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full discretion: there's actually some questionable BDSM etiquette here. Even though James asks if Q is okay being away from him for a bit, usually, that's not something a Dom should do. Stay with your sub, especially if a scene has already had a bit of a start. As my other notes have said, if you yourself are thinking about BDSM then PLEASE RESEARCH. Ask someone who actually does this. 
> 
> This fic is written purely for my own enjoyment - and hopefully your own enjoyment :)

Q had been kneeling for longer than he'd realized, and when he was helped to his feet, he felt like a wobbly colt. Thankfully, James decided then that the restraints were no longer necessary. "These will have to go in a moment anyway," the blond-haired man said, and with a melodramatic sigh, tugged the knotted tie from Q's wrists. He kept them in his grasp for a moment, as if reluctant to let go of that added level of control - or perhaps making sure that Q's arms hadn't fallen asleep. Either way, when he released Q's arms, Q gave them a quick stretching, pulling off the blindfold himself because he just knew that he'd topple over if he didn't, no matter how much James and Alec helped him out. He also... just maybe... wanted to see everybody looking at him.

He wasn't disappointed: he and James had gathered quite a crowd. Most of the Hellebore Club's customers, in fact. All were staring with various looks of shock, envy, and lust.

James came up beside him, relieving Q of his undone vest and tossing it back on the couch where he'd been sitting. James himself didn't have a hair out of place - although the blue of his eyes was nearly swallowed up by dark pupil now. "Proud of yourself, Q?" he asked under his breath, a little smirk flirting at the corner of his mouth as he eyed the crowd.

Q just swatted the back of his hand against James' chest, replying loftily, "Oh, I haven't even gotten started yet." And with that, he strode off, ignoring Alec and James in favour of making his own way up to the stage. People parted for him like waves, and he put a bit more saunter into his step as a result. "Do keep up," he called back over his shoulder, glancing just enough to see James - instead of being mad - grinning broadly and shaking his head. Q had to stop and turn when the blue-eyed Dom broke into a smooth lope to catch up with him. God, the man was athletic. Trevelyan was right behind him, still looking a bit like he couldn't believe he'd been made a part of this.

Catching up with Q and keeping him in place by running a possessive hand from the small of his back up to his nape, James looked to Alec, asking, "Do you think you could hook him up? I'm going to have to see if I can borrow some gear, and there's no reason we can't be efficient about this."

Alec's eyebrows rose, but when he looked at Q, the boffin merely nodded. There could be something very erotic about someone cuffing him to a cross like the one on the stage, but honestly, right now he was horny enough that he wanted to get right to the main show. He was practically gagging to find out what James could do once he got going - and Q knew the Hellebore Club kept some fantastic BDSM paraphernalia on hand. Only the best.  Q also recognized that he wasn’t sinking into subspace yet.  He could feel it like a hum at the back of his mind, and knew that once he sunk into it, he’d be a lot more dependant upon his Dom to keep him safe.  For now, though…  Q did a quick self-check, aware that James was watching him keenly the whole time.  He nodded again, then strode off.  James didn’t go far either, one of the Hellebore Club’s crew already guessing what he needed and coming up to talk to him.

The St. Andrew's Cross was a simple one but well looked after: dark reddish wood was polished to a high shine, and the cuffs attached to each of its arms were a padded, soft, dark leather. Q was aware that he had literally every eye in the room on him as he walked up onto the stage, the single stage manager that policed the location merely nodding to him and backing away. It helped that Q was being escorted by one of the bouncers, and that pretty much everyone had already seen the 'pre-game show' in the middle of the room with James. Glancing over to see James just across the stage, Q put his hands on his hips and made a show of considering the cross. Just as he noticed Alec opening his mouth to ask if something was wrong, Q hooked his thumbs in the hem of his last article of clothing, and skinned them off in one slick movement. The crowd made noises of approval - everything from gasps to wolf whistles - and Trevelyan cursed and dragged a hand down over his face.

"You're going to be the death of me," the bouncer said, dropping his hand away from his face to drag obviously appreciative green eyes over Q's lean frame. "Are you sure that James is the sadist, and not you?"

"Who, me?" Q splayed a hand on his chest, feigning innocence. He also maybe, just maybe, glanced over his shoulder to calculate just how many people were ogling his arse. The high number made him grin. Q knew that he was fairly fit for a piano-playing nerd. "I'm just here for a good time."

"A good time that includes getting whipped," Alec asked, with just enough of a raised eyebrow to solidify Q's suspicions that Alec was a gentle lover, not into pain-play. He didn't need a bracelet to confirm it.

Q just shrugged, still smiling, feeling valuable and powerful as he commanded the crowd with every movement of his body. "Let's just say it takes a bit more effort than average to get me out of my head," he said lightly, then clicked his fingers in the direction of the cross. "So, are you going to help me or not?"

Alec may not have been into the kind of play that Q and James were into, but he knew better than to disappoint a sub. "Anything for a pretty boy like you," Alec declared with a sudden and roguish grin and an 'after you' gesture of one broad hand.

Being a brat would have been counterproductive, so as much as Q liked putting on a show, he focused on being as helpful as possible while Alec manacled him to the St. Andrew's Cross. As always, a little shudder went through him as his feet were urged further apart, his body feeling more open and vulnerable as each limb was affixed to one leg of the big 'X' in front of him. James had kept him out of subspace by repeatedly startling him back when he'd been kneeling on the floor, but now, Q felt his head slipping into that slow, timeless space as one by one, he lost freedom in his limbs. Q breathed slowly in and out, head bowed forward, internally adjusting even as he was distantly aware of Trevelyan diligently checking the tightness of each cuff. The murmurs of the crowd created a low hum in the background.

"You good, Q?" Alec asked, stepping close and putting a hand on one of Q's shoulders. He kept it there, a light touch that grounded Q while they waited for Bond. Perhaps Alec wasn't into sadomasochism, but he knew a thing or two about not leaving a vulnerable sub unattended.

Q nodded, tested the limits of his movement, and then cast Alec a close-lipped little grin. "Tighten them," he demanded, loud enough for the crowd to just catch it. He heard more than a few appreciative comments, even as Alec smirked back at him, gave his head a wondering shake, and then tightened up the chains so that Q had even less range of motion than before.

"There, happy now?" Alec asked, returning to his previous position with one hand on Q's shoulder.

"Ecstatic."

Alec chuckled. "God, you're a bossy little sod in real life, aren't you?" he guessed, and Q found himself smiling easily back. He decided that he rather liked the man.

Of course, he liked James in a rather different way, and right then was the moment when the other Dom came their way with the easy prowl of a big cat. Q had to twist his head to get a glimpse of him, and the sight made his breath catch. There was something hungry and feral like fire behind the blue of Bond's eyes, a tiny crack in his otherwise perfect armour of control, and he had a set of leather gloves on now that creaked a little as he flexed one powerful fist. Someone was wheeling a cart onto the stage after him, and Q caught sight of multiple whips coiled atop it.

All this while, Alec was watching Q's face rather than the approaching Bond. "Easy there, bof," Alec chided, looking somewhere between impressed and startled by the eager look on Q's face, "Take a deep breath before you climax on the spot." More to himself than anything else, Alec mumbled, "You look almost more turned on by the whips than by your Dom."

"Whips have never disappointed me," Q said back, as airily as he could when he could feel adrenalin starting to rush through him, heady and addictive, "The Doms wielding them, on the other hand..."

"Ouch," Alec retorted with a faux wince. But then the crowd began clapping, signalling that the stage was set, and the bouncer gave Q's shoulder a pat. "On that note, let's hope no one is disappointed." And with that, he left Q's side.

The stage contained only Q and James now.

"Eyes forward, Q." James' voice was like iron, but soft, and the crowd immediately hushed to hear it. The stage had pretty fantastic acoustics, if Q remembered correctly, but the crowd still knew to be quiet - because even if they were watching two exhibitionists, they were still viewing a very personal moment between two people.

Once Q did as he was told, he was back to merely being able to hear what James was doing. There was a rustling of clothing, a rumble of approval from the crowd - probably James taking off his suit-jacket - then another, less easy to define sound. Q couldn't resist the urge to peek, and saw that James had indeed removed his jacket, but also now his shoes and socks, leaving him balancing easily on bare feet. "Q..." the Dom warned, seeing Q sneaking glances. Q jerked his head forward again, and the crowd was polite enough to keep the laughter to a soft ripple of noise. Q very nearly disobeyed again, however, as he heard the slithery sound of a whip through the air, James testing out his tools. Q closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but couldn't resist the shiver of anticipation.

"What do you like, Q?" James had raised his voice a bit, making it easy to hear as he began to play the crowd - like Q had been doing earlier. Apparently, they could both play that game. "Do you like a hard sting?" The last word was punctuated by a sharp crack, and although the whip didn't touch Q, his body clenched. Starting out was always hard, as Q's survival instincts fought with the part of Q that liked to feel pain.

Leaning his head against the cross as he tried to master himself - knowing that James would soon be stepping in to help him with that, in spades - Q sucked in a breath and replied, "I... I like to feel the impact. I like to feel it all the way down to my toes."

Q's voice was shaky, but just like his tensing wasn't out of fear, the quaiver in his voice wasn't out of anxiety either. The arguably rational part of his mind was terrified of what James could do with that whip, but the problem was, Q rather hated the rational part of his mind most of the time - it over-thought things, and overwhelmed him, and was generally useless when it came time to compose music, or even the more creative kinds of code. Right now, he knew that he was on the brink of shutting that rational side up, and it was making him eager as hell - so much so that he was all but vibrating. He groaned as he heard another swish, and this time it sounded like more tails flexing through the air, a heavy, leathery sound.

When Bond replied, it was only after a long moment, and his tone indicated that he was no less affected than Q was, even if he was trying to control it, "A tall order. Let's see what I can do about that."

There was no indication in Bond's voice that he was winding up, and no warning gasp from the crowd either - proving that James was not only strong, but damn fast. All Q knew was that there was a sudden, stinging slap across his back, not enough to upset his balance, but enough to get his attention. He regained his equilibrium quickly, even as the startling sting faded into a deep heat across the upper right side of Q's back. "I hope you have more than that," he called back over his shoulder, only slightly embarrassed to find his voice rough in his mouth.

The audience was amused. James took it in stride. "Just testing out my tools," he replied idly, like this was a show they'd performed many times before, and like he couldn't see Q twitching with impatience. "Gotta get warmed up and all that." Another whip cracked behind Q, a sharper sound, a more drawn out whistle. "Wouldn't want to pull something."

"I've got something I'd love you to pull," Q said, just to hear the crowd break out into chuckles again.

And, perhaps, to earn him the next hard sting he felt across his skin.

This whipcrack hit him as almost three separate events: a physical tug against his skin, much more narrow and focused than before, like being kissed by a dull knife - a sharp report of sound, echoing in the room - and then a bloom of pain like a firecracker against his skin. Q gasped this time, body instinctively curling away from the pain. James had struck him in almost the exact place again, only with a different whip that stung instead of slapped.

"You know, this can go one of two ways," James said, even as Q felt more endorphins fill his system, this new pain joining the other as a kind of almost-too-much warmth suffusing his torso. "I can either give you what you're asking for, with that smart mouth of yours-" Another bit of hissing filled the air, and by the audible breath from the crowd, James was showing off quite impressively, even if there were no more bullwhip-style snaps. James' voice dropped to a low, heated timber as he finished his sentence, "-Or I can give you what you _need_."

Q was still fighting with his body. Anyone in their right mind feared pain, and in all honesty, Q really wasn't any different. He certainly didn't seek pain out in his day-to-day life, and getting his finger slammed in a desk-drawer didn't turn him on in any way. When the situation was right, though - when Q's body was humming for a distraction, for a burst of adrenaline with no real danger behind it - then everything changed. Usually, pain was a warning sign meant to keep the body safe, but right now, if Q could just convince its body that there was no danger to fight or to flee, then he'd be left with nothing but the lion's roar of adrenaline in his system, and it was the purest high he knew.

Already, Q's body was slowly starting to accept it. He was breathing a bit faster, but the parts of his brain screaming for escape were shutting up, leaving Q's head dazed but quiet. "Prove it," he panted softly against the wood of the cross in front of him, swivelling his hands to wrap the chains that held him in place. Raising his voice, he repeated more boldly, "Prove that you can give me what I need, and maybe I'll consider being a good boy for you."

Silence greeted him at first, but Q simply waited, and with every second his heart rate slowed and the two points of pain sank in and became just another much-loved part of his body.

James' voice broke the silence, low and steady like a storm on the horizon, "Consider it done."

Q barely heard the next blow coming, but the surprise was more intense than the pain - James was, as promised, just getting warmed up. Despite what Q had indicated about his preferences, this was more of a _sting_ than a _thud_ kind of pain, but by this point, Q wasn't going to be picky. His blood was already starting to sing in his veins, and when he breathed through the next lash - this one finally coming from the other side, across his left upper back - it felt like the breath was coming all the way from his fingertips. Then James hit the exact same spot twice in a row and Q lost the ability to keep his mouth shut, crying out and arching in surprise.

"Color?" James asked, low and steady. He sounded implacable, like he was made of stone.

Q panted for a moment, but when it became clear that James wasn't going to continue without an answer, Q wriggled and spat out, "Green!" Immediately another blow fell - but this one was sharp and quick across his arse. James was skilled enough to keep the whip from wrapping around his hips accidentally (something Q had definitely had happen to him, when novices did this), but it still fucking stung, and Q yelped.

"I want a prompt answer next time," James made clear, then more loudly, a demand, "Color?"

"Green!" Q called back with alacrity this time. He was actually surprised by his own eagerness to please - but really, it made sense, didn't it? He'd been kneeling at Bond's feet for what felt like forever, semi-hard, and now his cock was rapidly taking interest again as his body began to accept the rush of pain. Therefore, Q held his breath as there was a pause, James not responding as quickly as before.

But the next blow came only a few beats later - and as Q heard the sound of it rustling through the air, he felt the world slow down, and a low purr begin in his throat. He _knew_ that sound. James had switched whips.

The heavy flogger's multiple tales slapped across the entirety of Q's upper back like a physical force, rocking him forward and taking his breath away. As promised - Q felt it right down to his toes.

Q's body was humming. The stinging blows had been capturing his focus up until now, like brilliant stars across the dark canvas of a night sky - but now, it was like the night had exploded, and his thoughts scattered. His nerve-endings barely had time to even categorize the sensation as pain before James was catching him again on the backswing. Impossibly, James managed to put more power into it despite Q's beleaguered brain telling him that this was a backhanded swing. Another cry was dragged out of Q's mouth, but then the third strike came in... with unexpected lightness. In fact, the swing was so soft that by contrast, it felt like the multiple flails were just caressing Q's skin, and he wasn't ready for that at fucking all. Q's inhaling breath was gasping and ragged, and he bent his head against the smooth wood of the cross. He floated for a moment, and James let him, a few beats of nothingness that felt like three aeons.

When James started up again, it was with an almost playful swat across Q's arse, then a more punishing one across the back of one thigh. James was still exhibiting exquisite control of his weapon of choice. "Not falling asleep on me, are you, love?" he called out, sounding almost gentle.

Q had to wet his lips and remember how to make words. The endorphins were a fog in his head, and his back was a patchwork of throbbing, distracting heat. "Fuck," he managed to say - quite eloquently, he thought.

James' chuckle was pure delighted evil. The whip swished like a big cat's tail. "I'll just have to wake you up then," he decided. The crowd was suddenly holding its breath in a way that was audible even to Q.

The first whip had been light and sharp, a stiletto sting - the second one had been heavy and blunted, a body blow. This third one was somewhere in the middle, and somehow managed to feel like both at once because that's how well James knew how to use it. It came in with a deceptively quiet hiss only to hit Q's right arse-cheek hard, and with the kind of precision that was pure sadism. Q yelp, but when the blow was delivered on the other side barely a second later, it became a groan. Q knew that people were watching - watching his skin redden, the pure paleness of it taking marks like paint on a fresh canvas, watching the way his spread legs began to quiver. He knew that they were watching James, too, and his titanium control as he wielded his latest whip with the kind of strength most subs would have wet dreams about for months after. But only Q was getting the real deal. Because only Q could match this Dom, and absorb everything he had to give. With the next blow, Q stopped trying to stay quiet, and this time let out a shriek that was part triumphant, because people could envy him all they wanted - but James was all his.

Hearing Q let go, James seemed to do the same. The next lash found its way to the sensitive skin of Q's left inner thigh, lighting up his nerve endings with a white-heat that went from his knee all the way up to his pelvis. Instead of feeling agony, though, Q's body and brain had finally gotten on the same masochistic page, and all Q felt was raw sensation. Good and bad mixed until there was no distinction. He gasped and then let out a low grown, cock hard now. The St. Andrew's Cross was angled so that depending on where the crowd stood, they could either watch him from the back, or get a good side-view, and Q smiled in a dazed way. People were probably surprised as hell to see him not only tolerating this - but getting off on it. He could hear a few gasps of surprise. Some of the gentler souls would probably have to leave the room before this was all over.

"I can feel your mind wandering from here," James' warning call was delivered barely a beat ahead of two lightning-fast strikes - both landing heavily and on the same spot, so that Q all but choked on his next cry. It felt like James drove the pain deeper into his body, like pounding home a nail. Head rocked back as he breathed through it and let the honey-warm pain fill his head, Q distantly hear the soft sounds of James striding up to him - he most certainly heard the low _woosh_ of James swinging at him from up close. He must have looped the whip around his fist, striking Q with the coils. It was a whole new sensation, one that was technically less brutal and painful, but since it went across Q's already reddened arse, it still felt like an open-handed slap across a sunburn. Q still keened like it had been a mouth on his cock instead.

"You're so hungry for it." James' voice was from barely a pace behind him, husky with avarice but also full of a quiet sort of wonder. Q twitched at the next touch, his nerves singing and expecting another blossoming bloom of pain, but feeling a gentle hand instead. Of course, Q probably had a whole tic-tac-toe board of welts across his back, so when James dragged his leather-gloved hand from Q's left shoulder downwards, Q keened helplessly and felt lit up by sparks the whole way. He was raw, he was open, and James was right there. As James' hand reached Q's arse, the boffin tried his best to arch into it, tugging at the restraints. In response, James took one globe of reddened skin and kneaded it, awakening the pain on a whole new level until Q was panting open-mouthed.

By this point, the audience had ceased to exist. There was only Bond - the touch of his hand joined by the careful stroke of the coiled whip against Q's heaving ribs. Q turned his head to look at it, and for the first time realized that at some point he'd started sweating. He blinked it away, but by then, James had leaned in to fill his vision, kissing his ear very gently. "I love how greedy you are," he said, as if imparting a great secret. Q didn't know if the audience could hear, and he no longer cared. "I love how you just get more insatiable with every little thing I do to you." James leaned in and took the meat of Q's shoulder in his teeth, and just like he had when pinching Q's nipple earlier, he applied pressure slowly, so that Q could feel every minute increase of pressure until it was wringing noise of out him. He whined at first, then panted, then keened as the pain reached that perfect point where it became shapeless and hot. James held it right there for a second, two, three, and then let go to breathe cool air across the bite. Q shuddered, then turned his head to rub his cheek against the mark, desperate to hold onto the star-bright ache. "Fuck," he just barely heard James breathe behind him - and Q _knew_ that that was a reaction only he heard. James' control had slipped another fraction.

Seeming to come to some decision, James slipped in close again, and this time Q felt the man all up along his back - Q's skin was hypersensitive, and the noise he made as absolutely indecent as he reacted to the sensation of fabric rubbing against him. James wrapped his arms around Q's front, hugging him against the St. Andrew's Cross, and murmuring to him "I'm going to pay you back for being so good for me" while dragging the tail of the whip teasingly back and forth across Q's rigid cock. Q writhed and forgot how to breathe, but James was immovable and Q didn't exactly have the upper hand. "That's it," James purred, like they were the only two in the world. Most of the whip wrapped around his fist, he rubbed the coiled leather against Q's lower belly, then gave his hand a flick - Q's entire body bucked and his mouth opened in a wordless cry as the tip of the whip flicked against his cock. It wasn't anything like a full-blown whip-crack, obviously, but it was still more than most men would have found tolerable, must less pleasurable - but Q's cock just got harder when faced with the abuse instead of flagging.

Q was the only one close enough to feel and hear the way James' breath stuttered in surprise. The Dom hid his reaction by turning his face into the soft, sweat-damp hair behind Q's ear, letting his breath out slowly and saying words almost too soft for even Q to hear, "What did I do to deserve you?"

Maybe Q would have answered (although he wasn't sure he could pull words together at the moment), but apparently James decided to reward him then, because the Dom's other hand reached around at that moment and wrapped around Q's cock, smearing precum as he gave it a slow, tight stroke from tip to base, not even caring what he was doing to his goves in the process. Q was a whimpering wreck by the time the man repeated it, all of the sensations compiling and overwhelming him. Jerking against the restraints didn't help, because Alec had done his job well. Q could only stand there and take it, even as James gave Q a squeeze while rubbing his thumb almost cruelly against Q's slit. It was like James was reading Q's very thoughts through his skin, the two of them pressed close, as the blue-eyed monster found that point between pleasure and pain and let Q ride it until he was nearly sobbing.

Then James abruptly let him go. Even the crowd gasped.

But as James backed off, one hand trailing along Q's ribs as if he was as reluctant to stop touching him as Q was reluctant to have him stop, the older man regained his stage presence and said for everyone to hear, "I said that I've made subs come untouched, if that's what they’re into."

Q choked a little, eyes snapping open, because yes, he _did_ remember James saying that. The realization of what was coming made his heart skip a beat.

He heard the whip uncoil again, and swish in the air as James limbered it up again. "So tell me, Q, is that what you're into?" Bond cracked the whip, and Q was all but heartbroken when it _didn't_ so much as touch him. "I asked you a question, China doll," James teased, voice rising into something hungry and vicious, "Tell me what you're into."

It was the 'China doll' reference that did it, that got Q's tongue working again, even though his voice was thick and rusty. "I'm into being broken," he rasped out.

James rewarded him by a hard cracked across the back of his thighs, and then set up a tireless rhythm that Q felt his already-primed body falling into without warning. Bond was relentless. It was like music, but felt right to Q's bones, and the beat echoed and echoed and echoed. And while the pace was a constant, nothing else was - James still somehow managed to vary his strokes between sharp, stinging bites and heavy, thudding impacts that pressed Q's entire body forward against the cross. Sometimes he'd focus on one spot - working of Q's upper back until it was warm - then suddenly switch right when Q felt like he was at his peak, like he was sure his skin would split open. Maybe it already had. Bleeding was by no means uncommon when Q did scenes like this.

All Q knew was that he didn't even care, because his head was a mass of white space, and he almost didn't register when he went from overstimulation to coming when one final stroke cracked across the underside of his bottom, almost at the crease above his thighs.

~^~

The world was muffled, and Q felt like he was floating somewhere beyond his body, pleasantly unmoored. He was aware of his own breaths, which sounded slow and loud in his ears, much like his heartbeat; the world around him felt like it had settled into a molasses pace as well, and it made him smile. He felt warm. Some tiny part of his brain piped up and informed him that he'd feel all of this later, in a painful way, but right now he was just a mass of buzzing, tingling, fizzing warmth from his skin to his bones.

And through that hot-honey cocoon he felt Bond.

It was debatable whether Q was capable of standing under his own power anymore - and whether or not he was actually trying. Standing seemed so tedious. He wanted to melt into a puddle. As he sagged against the restraints, though, smiling and panting, he felt the shock of another body up behind him. For a moment, the sensations surged, the welts along his back singing at the friction even as Q whined and his cock gave one last valiant twitch. It was just Bond, though, recognizable by his voice crooning in Q's ear. Q couldn't deduce what he was saying, but found he didn't care, because the tone was wrapping him up in velvety reassurance.

Later, he'd look back and realize other things: that someone else must have been removing his restraints, because James was plastered to his back with his arms firmly wrapped around him; that at some point James had stripped away his buttondown, because Q didn't feel any buttons digging into his spine, just soft cloth with body heat beneath. It was nice. Even nicer was sagging back into James once all the cuffs were undone. Q hummed, languorous and unhurried, loosely gripping the brawny arms now locked supportively around his middle.

"Come home with me?" Q turned his head to mumble against Bond's jaw, lips against stubble, tasting the salt of sweat. Q didn't recall if he heard an answer or not, because his brain was floating away.

He did remember the more clinical steps of aftercare: the decidedly not-fun sting of antiseptic, the annoying friction of cream being smeared across his back, legs, and arse. He knew that it was all necessary to ensure that none of the marks got infected and became permanent, but this wasn't the kind of pain Q had signed up for, and his mind was already in a different place where it wasn't transforming discomfort into an endorphin-induced high anymore. So Q wriggled and griped and whimpered piteously until James moved closer, pulling Q's head and shoulders up onto his lap so that Q could like belly-down with his arms wrapped around the Dom's waist while someone else treated him. This close, with his face practically nuzzling into Bond's crotch, Q could feel the other man coming down, too: his breathing was still deeper than usual, even if he wasn't quite panting, and sometimes Q felt tremors chase themselves through the muscled thighs beneath him. James was also still quite hard in his trousers, but when Q tried to help him with that (not very skillfully, unfortunately, since Q was so deep in subspace that he barely recalled his own name at this point), James merely hushed him, cupping Q's head to his stomach and scratching blunt fingernails against Q's scalp. The pianist settled instantly, knowing that everything must be all right if someone was talking to him like that and giving him head-scritches.

Q grouchily opposed the idea of being clothed again, but apparently it was inevitable. Dimly, Q was aware that James wasn't alone in helping him get dressed, and he recognized Alec - in fact, he vaguely recalled being worried that Alec would be fired for leaving his post at the door, but the bouncer had just laughed kindly and said something about this being worth it. Now that Q wasn't in the middle of a scene, he found that he appreciated Alec's gentle nature. Surprisingly, sadist-James was quite caring, too, and somehow Q ended up clothed again in soft jogging trousers and a loose shirt he didn't remember bringing. Someone had given Q pain medication for when the endorphins wore off, and James had made Q drink the entire bottle of water that came with it.

The whole while, Q was basically a lump of contentedness. He was like a person after a massage; a cat turned liquid on a hot-mat; a shot of pure melatonin and a sunny day. His brain was very disconnected and he couldn't bring himself to care, because through it all, James never stopped touching him - and it was hard to get anxious when a Dom like James was being so possessive. Q had definitely suffered sub-drop before, in the vulnerable moments after a scene, when he looked back on himself and realized what a freak he was. No longer in the middle of a scene, it was suddenly up to Q to rationalize why he'd just let someone whip him like a dog in front of people... because Q knew that what he liked wasn't normal. Of course, he also knew that 'normal' was nothing more than a setting on the dishwasher, but sometimes it took a bit for his self-confidence to reassert itself. Until then, he relied pretty heavily on his partner to remind him that, if Q was a freak, then so was the man he'd been with.

Therefore, it was an immensely pleasant surprise to find out that James was clingy as _fuck_ post-scene. It reminded Q of how Alec had made sure to always keep touching him while hooking him up to the St. Andrew's Cross, only amplified. From the moment Q had climaxed, he literally couldn't recall a moment when he didn't have Bond holding him in some way, his voice a low, crooning rumble always somewhere at the back of Q's admittedly fuzzy awareness.

So maybe it was only fair that Q clung right back when someone suggested going home. This time, when Q asked James to come home with him, he was almost... sixty-percent sure he heard the man acquiesce.

~^~

Q woke up the next morning feeling achy but relaxed, his mind quiet and serene in a way that made him think of that one time he'd skipped Christmas with his family to go to a cabin by a lake instead, and simply soaked in the stillness of open water and loonsong. Now, of course, Q was soaking in the loveliness of his massive bed, soft mattress, and silk sheets, with pre-dawn light just peeking through the windows. Q's place was a studio sort of space, too high up in the city for him to really worry much about covering the big windows and their impressive view of London.

Right now, though, the best view was all inside. Q was lying on his stomach (a must, after a scene like last night's, although the painkillers were still doing their job), and turned his head at the faint rustle of another body moving in the bed. Q's Dom from last night was sprawled on his back, taking up space like he'd owned it, and Q couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face. James looked younger like this, and that somehow just made him all the more inviting. Q wished they'd had time to properly chat the night before, and maybe ascertain whether or not it would cross any lines if Q were to wake Bond up by sucking his cock...

That thought was tempting, but with every second more that Q was awake, his brain was waking up - but instead of the hornets'-nest buzz of yesterday, it was with a blessedly crystalline clarity. He felt like an engine that had just been cleaned, or a computer debugged. Suddenly, there was only one thing Q wanted to do: he slipped off the bed, only slowing down enough so as not to exacerbate his still-raw back, and shuffled quickly to the piano by the windows.  His only pitstop was to grab more painkillers, knowing that last night’s dose would wear off unpleasantly soon.

This time, when he sat down and placed his fingertips reverently on the keys... the music came.

It was a good thirty minutes before Q paused in his composition long enough to realize that he was being watched. Glancing over, Q saw James propped up on one elbow on his side, the sheets pooled around his waist and the rising sun catching the strong planes of his bare shoulders and chest. He was smiling, blue eyes filled with fascination. "You are officially full of more surprises than anyone I've ever had the pleasure of going home with," he said, speaking for the first time. Q shivered, liking the way Bond's voice had a slight roughness to it in the morning - like a bite of whisky.

"I'm a composer," Q said, realizing for the first time that they were both quite naked. That usually didn't bother him - but then again, he usually didn't get Doms like Bond and then demand to take them home. Or, if any of Q's partners did come home with him, they didn't politely sit and watch him play piano with such a look of patient interest in their eyes. "Although sometimes my thoughts just get too tangled - too busy - and it can take a lot to clear my head."  He shifted where he sat, biting back a hiss at the distant sort of ache coming from the backs of his thighs and arse.  The pain was still hitting him in a pleasant sort of register, mostly just reminding him of the man who’d given that pain to him.

"Ah," James raised his eyebrows knowingly, shifting a little to roll back onto his back. He kept watching Q even as he folded his arms behind his head, looking perfectly at home where he was. Q rather liked the look of him there. More and more, Q was also recalling that James had blown his mind last night without getting the same in return. "That's why you were at the Hellebore club then - to get some help with clearing your head?"

Q nodded. There was no reason to lie. He did add, however, "In all frankness, though, I was mostly just expecting a bit of fun and maybe a bit of spanking before going home."

"You were setting the bar awfully low," James teased back, mock appalled.

Fighting a grin, Q replied, "Setting it awfully high, actually - I'm very, very hard to please. I never expect anyone to meet my expectations."

Still lounging like a king, James watched Q keenly and asked lowly, "And did I?"

Instead of answering, Q swung a leg over the piano bench and got up, striding towards the bed and kneeling up on it without preamble. He watched Bond's eyes glint in pleasant surprise and then darken as his pupils dilated - the rest of him otherwise completely still. That iron control stayed smoothly in place as Q straddled James' blanket-draped lap and promptly sat down. "Depends," Q said, leaning forward until he could prop pointy elbows on either of Bond's pectorals and lean his chin upon his hands. James, a typical sadist, grimaced at receiving pain instead of giving it, but tolerated it in favour of watching Q's mischievous expression from up close. The boffin finished his sentence, "Are you going to call me 'China doll' again?"

A grin flashed, quick and wickedly playful, across Bond's face. He still had his hands behind his head, but bent his knees so that his thighs rose up and cupped Q's bottom. Q felt the hard line of a stiffening cock against the crease in his arse, silk a thin barrier between them, the faint friction reawakening more pleasant aches.

"Never," James vowed, as he finally let his control slip, reaching a hand forward to curl strong fingers into Q's hair and drag him forward into a kiss they were both hungry for.

When they pulled back, they were both panting, but Q - eyes still closed and mouth tingling from the nips of Bond's teeth - nonetheless managed to declare quite factually, "Liar."

James' laughter was low and warm and real, vibrating up through Q's body. "Maybe," the man admitted, crows'-feet liberally adorning his eyes as he watched Q for more surprises. "Can you live with that?"

"I think I can live with an inveterate, name-calling liar," Q said with a huff, pretending that it was actually a hard decision when in reality this felt more simple than anything he'd ever desired. He rocked back against Bond's erection, earning himself a groan even as he continued, "So long as he continues to give me earth-shattering orgasms and doesn't one day forget how to use a flogger. You were more than passable with that, by the way."

"Ta," James chuckled, looking thoroughly enamoured even as he lost a bit more of his control - his other hand slipped free from behind his hand and came up to stroke Q's thigh. By this point, Q was relishing the reawakened throbbing, which was still at a level that he could enjoy if he was careful.  Q rocked a little bit more, bracing his hands now on James' warm, tanned skin, and letting the small agonies go right to his own stiffening member. "Now, tell me that your cock is begging for my arse, and then we can start the day properly. And maybe I'll treat you to coffee after."

This time James' laughter had a devilish edge to it, and the way he gripped Q's hips and slipped one hand around Q's arse to just brush at the healing welts (causing Q to gasp and rock his head back, already sinking into the low-level pain) said he was on the same page as Q. This time, it was Bond who was obedient, diligently replying, "My cock is indeed begging to bury itself in your pert little arse." He leaned up, stole a kiss. Then he murmured right up against Q's mouth like the monster he was, "But I'm thinking I might eat out something else for breakfast."

Fuck it, Q was never leaving this bed again - and he wasn't letting James go either. Making a mental note to thank Eve very, very much for sending him to the Hellebore Club, Q released a little growl of eagerness and launched himself forward into another kiss, the two of them quickly kicking the last of the blankets aside.

 

~The End~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q probably wouldn't actually be ready and raring for full-on sex after a flogging like that, but like I said - this is a work of fiction. Hopefully everyone found something in here to enjoy, and once again, thank you to all who have commented!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the BDSM 00Q fic that I've been wanting to write for ages now - so for anyone who was on the Facebook page where this started, thank you for encouraging me along the way <3 Next chapter should be up in a day or so!


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